April 10, 2013

Chapter One, page one*

 

The story starts like something out of a fairy tale:  I hated my stepfather.

It’s usually stepmothers in fairy tales.  Well, equal time for stepfathers.

I almost don’t know why I hated Val so much.  He was short and hairy and didn’t know how to wear Newworld clothes and spoke with a funny accent and used a lot of really dreeping words that nobody in Newworld had used in two hundred years.  Have you ever heard anyone say “ablutions”?  I didn’t think so.  He looked like the kind of creepazoid you’d cross the street to avoid walking past too close to.  And this guy who looks like a homeless crazydumb who’s about to start shouting about the evil magician who planted electrodes in his brain stands there smiling gently at my mother . . . and she laughs and puts her arm through his because she loves him.  Uggh.

Maybe I hated him because she loved him, although I was pretty old for that kind of doolally.  I’d turned seventeen by the time they got together, and my brother, Ran (short for Randal not Randolph), who wasn’t quite thirteen yet, thought he was wonderful.  I don’t know what went wrong with me.  It was like an evil magician had put electrodes in my brain.

Margaret Alastrina (everyone calls me Maggie, but the full line-up is way more effective if you want to shout), there’s no point in telling this story if you’re not going to be honest.  Okay, okay, I do know why I couldn’t deal with Val.  It was the shadows.  But in Newworld, where we’re all about science and you stop reading fairy tales about the time you learn to read (which always seemed really unfair), being afraid of shadows was silly and pathetic.  Even if there were a lot of them and they didn’t seem to be the shadow of anything.  (And if they were, whatever it was had way too many legs.)  So I hated him for making me silly and pathetic.  That’s scientifically logical, isn’t it?

For a while Mom made a fuss about it and tried to get us—Val and me—to do things together, I guess because she couldn’t believe I wouldn’t like him if I got to know him better.  You know the kind of thing.  We did the grocery shopping—with him being as useless as it’s humanly possible to be and me having to explain everything;  why he hadn’t starved to death before he met Mom I have no idea—and when I got my learner’s permit Mom was always “Oh, take Val, I haven’t got time right now,” which was probably true but it was also Mom trying to make us friends.  (And honestly, he was a pretty good learner driver’s passenger.  He never blew about dumb stuff—and he didn’t even get upset when I put the tiniest—the tiniest—dent in Mom’s fender because there was this really unnecessary knob on the side of one of those big metal anti-cobey boxes and I couldn’t see it because the front of the car was in the way.  We got out and looked at it and I thought, My life is over, but all Val said was, “I can bend that out again.  Back into the driveway tonight so it’s on the other side and she’ll never know.”)

Mom probably couldn’t believe what had happened to her daughter.  I’d been this disgustingly sweet, cooperative kid, always worried about everyone else (this got worse after Ran was born.  I am never having kids.  Moms with new babies have no life), which is to say this dreary little dreep.  What started giving me my own personality finally was when I got old enough to volunteer at the Orchard Animal Shelter.  I was thrilled at being allowed to shovel critter crap and scrub bowls.  The self-confidence issues of a nine-year-old can be pretty weird.

I’d wanted a dog since forever, but about six months after Dad died, and Mom was still trying to be extra-nice to Ran and me, especially because she was working about twenty-six hours a day and exhausted and miserable and cranky when we saw her at all, I told her I’d found my dog.  So while she gave me the old “a dog is a big responsibility” lecture and reminded me with lots of Mom gestures and eye contact that she was working twenty-six hours a day and backup from her was a nonstarter, her heart wasn’t really in it.  I had wanted almost every dog that came into the shelter because whatever it was it was a dog, but this time it was one of those your-eyes-meet-and-you-know-you’re-made-for-each-other things.  (My friend Laura has them about every six months with a new boy.)  Clare was saving him for me while I dealt with Mom (and Ran, although Ran is fine about most things including dogs as long as they’re not his problem).  So we brought Mongo home. . . .

* * *

* Because I have a mind like a sieve that’s been left out in the rain and then caught in an avalanche, I can’t remember if I’ve given you the first few pages of SHADOWS before or not.  I know I’ve given you a couple of random snippets from inside.  But even if I have given you the first few pages previously . . . this is the last rewrite.  I’m pretty sure you haven’t seen the final version.

 

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